Montana Guardian: A Guardian Security Novella (The Kings of Guardian)

by Kris Michaels

  Montana Guardian

  A Guardian Security Novella

  Kris Michaels

  Copyright © 2018 by Kris Michaels

  Cover Art: Digitally Imagined

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted int the licensed material is a model. This book is fiction. Names, characters, some locations and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, events, or locations are entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by Kris Michaels

  Introduction

  Dearest Reader,

  This is small glimpse into Sierra Team, who you met in Justin’s book. Other team members and characters depicted in The Kings of Guardian and Guardian Shadow World will have their own stories. Will they be full length novels or novellas? I never know until the characters speak.

  Thank you for supporting me. I adore each and every one of you.

  Hugs,

  Kris

  Chapter 1

  Van Wheeler’s phone pinged and the screen lit.

  >Call in: 1545hrs. Report to Andrews AFB:1800hrs

  “Yo! Travis.” As he read the text message from his Guardian handler, Van Wheeler called to his teammate, Travis Coleman.

  “What’s up, Skipper?”

  He grinned and lobbed his phone at his longtime friend. “Pack your bags, we’re heading out.”

  Travis caught the phone and read the text. “I’ll tell the team.” Van's phone flew back on an errant trajectory. “Wonder what the op is this time.”

  Van lurched and snatched the device from the air at the last minute, saving the framed picture of his family on the wall behind him. “You sure as fuck can’t throw.”

  “Not a job requirement.” Travis answered while texting.

  “Right, ever heard of hand grenades?” The corner of his mouth quirked as Travis lifted a middle finger. They’d met while surviving boot camp at Paris Island and then had gone their own way through follow-on training. He’d lost track of his best friend until they’d landed in the same Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command unit and remained MARSOC team members through years of combat. Guardian approached Van when he started searching for a job at the end of his enlistment. He interviewed, and when his Guardian interviewer asked if he knew of any other candidates for the open positions, he recommended Travis. The rest, as they say, was history.

  Guardian Security held the position of the world’s preeminent private security agency and one with global reach. As such, federal agencies and private concerns in the United States, as well as foreign interests and nations around the world, employed their elite services. Guardian’s missions dealt with everything from computer security breaches to privately funded military operations in hostile areas. Van’s team specialized in the latter.

  Since his promotion to Skipper of Sierra team, he’d learned to roll with the assignments. Weeks, or even months, could stretch between missions, so Sierra team spent downtime at one of Guardian’s stateside facilities, honing weapons and tactical skills and learning intel on what the bastards overseas were throwing at the teams deployed to hostile areas. Until an overseas assignment surfaced, Sierra team performed duty in the States as a backup force for domestic issues. Whatever the op was, it had to be important…or required one of his team’s specialized skills. His team had just transitioned off their most recent overseas rotation in Syria and had barely cleared their mandatory downtime.

  The time displayed on the face of his phone indicated five minutes until he needed to call in for his mission brief.

  "Shit, that means I need to go close up my apartment," Travis mused as he wandered into the Van's kitchen. The telltale sound of the refrigerator opening meant his XO was eating again.

  Van padded barefoot down the hall of his apartment. Other than his toiletries, his go-bag was packed. He tossed a bar of soap, shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, a toothbrush, and a comb, into a worn leather carrier. He was ready to deploy.

  “Heading out, Skipper. Ricco, Scuba and Harley have acknowledged notification.”

  “Rally point?” Van asked as he entered the front room of his apartment.

  “Here, of course. You have food,” Travis shouted as he let himself out of the apartment.

  Van huffed a laugh. It was true. He’d just spent two hundred dollars on groceries. He wasn’t worried. His team would eat through whatever he had in the apartment before they left on Guardian’s latest assignment. Van sprawled onto the sofa and grabbed his phone. He tapped in the numbers to the switchboard.

  “Operator Two-Five-Three.”

  Van could swear that woman’s voice was a recording, but her greeting always varied, so unless Guardian had implemented one hell of an Artificial Intelligence program… “Commander, Sierra Team.”

  “Good Afternoon, Skipper. One moment, I’ll connect you with Domestic Operations.”

  Van had no idea how the woman knew where to direct the calls. He never asked to be transferred to a person. She just automatically knew what to do. Freaky, in a Twilight Zone kinda way.

  “Good afternoon, Skipper.”

  A soft female voice he didn’t recognize surprised him. “Ah…good afternoon?”

  “Standby for the Ops O.” Her voice once again floated across the connection.

  Well, that would be beneficial. Kannon Starling was the Operations Officer or the Washington D.C. District Manager. He and his scheduler, Willa, were miracle workers who kept the teams rotating and provided them all with mandatory downtime. The sultry velvet voice on the line wasn’t Willa because Willa sounded like she’d smoked cigarettes for eighty years and still had one dangling out of her mouth.

  “Wheeler? Starling here. Standby while we verify the line is secure.”

  Van immediately recognized the Ops O’s voice. “Roger that, sir.”

  “The line is secure.” The woman’s voice floated to him once again.

  “Authenticate Bulldog.” Starling’s brash burst of words assaulted his ears like sandpaper after the caress of the female voice.

  He responded with his countersign. “Chesty, sir.” Chesty Puller was one bulldog of a motherfucker and one of the best damn generals the Marine Corps ever produced.

  “Jewell King is on the line. She runs computer security for Guardian.” Starling spit the words out in rapid-fire succession.

  “Roger, sir. I know who she is.” Every Guardian employee knew of the Kings of Guardian. That family ran the multi-billion-dollar company.

  The woman chuckled before she spoke. “Skipper, I have a unique mission for you. For reasons I can’t go into right now, I need you and one of your team members to head to Buckskin Junction.

  Starling came on the line just as Van opened his mouth to ask questions.

  “Two people only, Wheeler. You pick who goes with you. The other three will be utili
zed in a joint operation we are working with Homeland. You know we wouldn’t split you up unless we were pushed. We’re being pushed hard.”

  “Roger that, sir. I’ll take Travis.”

  “You have knowledge of the area, correct?”

  “Limited knowledge, at best.”

  Jewell King’s question surprised him. It shouldn’t have. He’d heard rumors of the woman’s research skills. Seems like the rumors were true. He was somewhat familiar with the region. His grandfather had owned a ranch west of Wisdom, Montana. He’d visited it when he was a child through his teen years until his grandfather died and his dad sold the old ranch.

  “Affirmative and understood. One of our specialists is a freelancer, and she resides in the area. She’s off the grid and has been for the last year. Since you worked with her during her last operation with us, we’d like you to make contact.”

  Van closed his eyes and shook his head. Fuck, it couldn’t be. Don’t say it…don’t say it…don’t let it be her…for the love of God…

  Starling confirmed his apprehension. “We need you to locate Cassie Valentine and tell her we have an assignment for her.”

  Son of a bitch. “Sir, with all due respect, I think you should find someone else to do this mission.”

  “You’re joking, right? I just told you I’m so fucking swamped with shit coming down the pipe that I’m busting up your team to cover the cesspool I’m swimming in. Unless you have a damn good reason, you and Travis get your asses to Andrews. We have a Guardian jet inbound. They are refueling and then turning and burning. Wheels up at 1900hrs.” Starling’s gruff voice left little room for argument.

  “Roger that, sir. Wheels up at 1900hrs,” Van replied calmly as his mind spewed every cuss word in every language he’d ever learned.

  “Get in, get the message to her, get out, and call in for further instructions.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Jewell chimed in with additional information. “We have two points of contact in the area that can assist you in locating her. The first is the local sheriff, Casey Black. The second is a local contractor who has worked with Guardian in the past. He’s a specialist. His name is Isiah Reichs. He's a former Marine. He’s a man we can trust. He has contacts and knows the local area. I’ll have Domestic Operations call and make contact with both men to let them know you’re on your way. I’ve also sent their contact information to your phone.” He could hear the distinct sound of a keyboard in the background as she spoke. “Commander, I cannot stress how important it is that we find Cassie Valentine. When you locate her, you are to give her the following message, ‘The puzzle master is necessary.’”

  Van took a deep breath before he acknowledged his mission. “Roger, I copy. ‘The puzzle master is necessary.’" Why in the hell didn't Guardian just ask the local contractor to do this mission. What the hell was his name...Reichs, that was it.

  "I'll also need you to escort her in, if necessary. I'm not sure of her status, but you may be required to arrange her travel and bring her in, that's why we aren't asking Reichs to deliver the message. He's obligated to another operation and must be ready to leave at a moment’s notice."

  Perfect, and that scrubs that argument. "We’ll find her, relay the message and get her to you if necessary.” Van parroted the directives he'd been given.

  In the tag team phone call, the next voice he heard was Starling. “Tell Ricco to call in. I’ll give him reporting instructions for the rest of the team.” Abruptly, the call disconnected.

  Van looked at the blank face of his cell, dropped it on the coffee table and stood, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Cassie Valentine. Fuck him standing. What in the fuck had he done to deserve this seventh level of hell?

  He grabbed his phone to give Travis the plan. His team wasn’t going to like it, but Guardian was the best at what they did, so no one was going to question the directives. No one except him. Cassie fucking Valentine. All those curves, blonde hair, and dark brown eyes. She had a smile so warm and inviting it could melt the polar ice caps. And her body…Van dropped the thought like a piece of burning metal. There was no way he was going to start questioning what the fuck had gone wrong…again. No, he had a call to make, and his once-upon-a-time relationship with the best code breaker in the free world wasn’t something he wanted to revisit.

  He opened his phone and hit up Travis. His XO could contact the rest of his team.

  “Yo.” Travis's answer was short and succinct.

  “Tell Ricco, Scuba, and Harley they aren’t coming with us. I’ll brief you on the mission when you get here. Ricco needs to call the switchboard. Ops O has orders for the three of them.” The distinct absence of comments told him just how confused his XO was feeling. Well, join the club.

  “Van, man…did we fuck up somehow?” Travis used his first name instead of calling him Skipper. Yeah, his XO was concerned.

  “No, we’re good. Ops O is hard pressed and needs to use his assets wisely. Call the team. Let them know this isn’t permanent.”

  “Roger that. I’ll be back at yours in twenty.”

  Van acknowledged the comment and tossed the phone down again. He dropped to the couch and closed his eyes, wondering why in the hell he was selected for this assignment. Fate was a bitch sometimes, but right now he had a few choice names for fate, and they weren’t near as nice as bitch. Over a year ago his team, along with Ms. Valentine, had traveled into Kashmir and set up a listening post to gather intelligence on the Hizbul Mujahideen. Ms. Valentine accompanied them because she was the best code breaker available. Previous teams, partnered with some of the best linguistic specialists in the world, had failed to understand the gibberish the HM was transmitting.

  His team met up with Cassie in Denver and made their way to Kashmir through covert channels. She’d been waiting for them at a truck stop at the edge of the city. She stood quietly beside a solid, older man. After they introduced themselves, the man pulled her aside to have a word with her. Van got the impression the comments weren’t well wishes.

  Cassie never looked the older man in the face, her gaze pinned to the ground. The man shook her arm, and Cassie nodded while holding herself at a distance…as if she was afraid he’d strike her. As a unit, his team stepped forward. The only way that conversation would continue was if the man took his fucking hands off her. Van remembered the moment he plucked the man’s fingers off of Cassie.

  “Get your hands off me,” the older man snarled his comments at Van.

  “Nobody touches a lady like that.” Van stepped closer and tightened his grip.

  The man flexed the muscles of his forearm and tried to pull away, successful only when Van loosened his grip. “Get her back on the day you promised. Not one day later.” He spun on his heel and made his way to an old rusted out truck with Montana plates.

  “Are you alright?” Ricco, the medic in the group, asked as Van and Travis formed a human shield between the woman and the asshole getting into the truck.

  “Thank you. I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.” She rubbed her arm where the guy’s meat hooks had latched onto her.

  Ricco took her hand in his and pushed up the sleeve of her thermal shirt. The elastic was worn, so there was little resistance, and that was when Van turned and saw the kaleidoscope of purple, green and yellow bruises blotting her arm and elbow.

  “Did he do that to you?” Van ground out. If he did, the fucker’s days were numbered. Harley, Travis, and Scuba made themselves scarce, and the woman seemed to relax.

  “No. I fell.” She pulled her arm back and shoved her sleeve down.

  “Right, okay. Who was that?”

  Ricco picked up the woman’s bag and left Van alone with her.

  “My uncle.” She glanced at where the truck had been parked and then searched the parking lot.

  “Why is he so particular about you being back on a certain date?” Van motioned toward where his team had moved. He wanted to give her the choice of following or not.

/>   “Ah…my mom’s not well. I need to make sure I get back to her.” She started towards the two Suburbans where his team was now gathered.

  “As it stands right now, we’re scheduled to be back in country three days before he wants you back.” That date was almost three months in the future. Anything could happen between now and then, so Van cautioned her. “The return date isn’t a guarantee. It’s always fluid. Have you told Guardian that you need to be back stateside by a specific date?” Van didn’t want to be the reason that bastard put his hands on the woman again.

  She nodded her head and whispered, “Guardian knows about the date.”

  The trip overseas was uneventful. They got in and set up a listening post. It seemed the further away from Denver they got, the more Cassie came to life, like a flower opening before their eyes. Within four days of pitching their tents, Cassie had broken the code the bastards had developed. The six of them worked in eight-hour shifts monitoring and decoding the transmissions using the cipher Cassie had developed.

  Van and Cassie worked together during the day shift. They ate together and slept within a few feet of each other for weeks. She was kind, giving, innocent and trusting. Her wide-eyed wonder at just about everything made him realize how jaded he’d become and how vulnerable and sheltered she was. She blushed at the most ordinary kindness and was unusually timid. Her behavior suggested that bastard uncle of hers abused her. That thought sent his blood into a boil. How anyone could abuse such a beautiful soul baffled him. Cassie shrugged off his questions about her family, telling him only that her father and uncle were religious and very strict.

  Cassie's unwavering kindness never faltered, even under less than desirable field conditions. She always made sure his men had enough to eat before she would take any food. She collected dirty clothes and washed them, even when they insisted she didn't have to clean after them. Her hands never stilled, and her sweet, honest interactions with his men melted the toughened warriors. Everyone adored the quiet, shy woman.